


respite

by airedis



Series: quiet verse [3]
Category: VIXX
Genre: Asexual Character, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-03
Updated: 2016-02-03
Packaged: 2018-05-17 23:56:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5890102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/airedis/pseuds/airedis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Silence doesn't always bring comfort</p>
            </blockquote>





	respite

**Author's Note:**

> Companion fic to reticent and repose
> 
>  
> 
> I really tried to get this out by January 31st but the stars were just not aligned. This is far too long overdue and I apologize for that. I’d prefer not to make excuses, but I do feel like a few explanations are in order. First is that I finished my final year of school and my last semester was particularly stressful (which may have had an impact on some of the emotions in this particular segment). Secondly, I’d planned to work on this more after I graduated but I had to deal with family issues for a few months that made it difficult to focus on something this heavy. Third, and most significant, it may not be immediately obvious but this story is very difficult to write. I enjoy telling it, but it’s overwhelming and I sink into it in such a way that it takes me a very long time to wrap my head around it all. I hope that some of this feeling comes through in the writing; think it's important.
> 
> You don’t have to accept any of these reasons, but I hope you’ll still accept this story. It’s been a long time coming but here’s part three.

The world has become a little louder, though not always by much.

Sometimes it’s not as bad as it seems; he’s gotten used to it a bit more, gotten used to everything shifting into double-time around him at the drop of a hat. And Taekwoon’s changed right along with it, if only a little bit. He laughs more, smiles more, doesn't hide it like he used to. Part of it stems from necessity – it’s just what he needs to do to survive in the world he’s chosen for himself – and part of it is him becoming more comfortable in his own skin. Occasionally he still wants to shed who he is and be someone else, even if it’s only for a while, but mostly that’s just a passing thought now.

(He talks more, when he feels like it, but still he finds it disagreeable to speak unless necessary. They're all very used to it by now.)

But sometimes it’s worse than it seems and, when he’s been running in a million directions without rest for far too long, everything seems to bear down on him, push in and in on him until he’s compacted into a tiny, uncomfortable box that he couldn’t get out of even if he tried. It all becomes overwhelming then, and he closes up on himself, his own body becoming another box to keep the rest of the world out. Hakyeon doesn’t like it when Taekwoon does this but he can’t help it.  
Sometimes it’s all just too much.

-

Taekwoon is not a stranger to the feeling of becoming overwhelmed. There’s not much to do about growing up with a career soldier for a father or a desire to play soccer professionally; there’s even less to do about injuring yourself and deciding to become a singer instead. None of the paths Taekwoon has travelled have been particularly easy but, even with that knowledge, it doesn’t stop any of it from being any less difficult.

His head is the main problem.

He lets it all get to him, lets it swim around in his head, slosh back and forth turbulently, lets it leak down the sides of his face until he’s dripping in doubt and shivering uncontrollably.

Sometimes – more often now – it takes control of him and makes it impossible for Taekwoon to do anything else. He becomes useless, an empty body and a mind stuffed full of every thought in the universe. They slip through his consciousness, crackling around uncomfortably for a split second moment before the next thought takes its place, slippery and cold. He can’t catch a hold of any of them, but it doesn’t matter; he doesn’t want to.

Taekwoon stares at the wall for minutes (hours?) on end because everything just gets away from him. Wonsik finds him like this, sitting on the floor just outside the kitchen and staring at a sliver of space between the refrigerator and the counter.

“Hyung?” he asks, and his voice is hesitant and a little thin.

Taekwoon almost doesn’t hear him. He makes a noise in his throat, shallow and distant, and doesn’t move. Most of the others will just leave him be when he’s like this because he’s unresponsive and hard to deal with. But Wonsik, without fail, sits next to him and tries to quell the flurry of turmoil and evasive feelings with silence.

It doesn’t always work but Taekwoon’s always thankful for it even if he can’t express that to Wonsik.

He’s not sure what goes through Wonsik’s head as they sit together, isn’t really even sure what goes through his own head, but somehow two hours are gone in the blink of an eye and the only light in the room is the yellow bulb overhead in the kitchen. Wonsik is breathing, quiet and steady, to his left and then a door is opening down the hall and the soft pattering of sock covered footsteps makes its way towards them.

The figure stops in the living room for just a beat and then Jaehwan is passing in front of Taekwoon’s line of vision. His eyes follow briefly as Jaehwan walks toward the counters to start making dinner before they lazily slide back to the same spot on the wall. Wonsik shifts, his clothes a soft swish in the air, and Taekwoon breathes.

He can hear Jaehwan as he moves around, the stove clicking on, the distinct sound of a metal utensil hitting the side of a glass bowl. The refrigerator opens and closes with a puffy sort of compressed noise that wraps around Taekwoon’s head and, bit by bit, tries to push out the burning fuzz of nothingness. Sanghyuk comes in some time later and his palm lands familiarly on the space between Taekwoon’s shoulder blades before he joins Jaehwan and adds to the quiet din.

When everything is finished, Sanghyuk calls for everyone and Wonsik pushes himself up from the floor. He pulls Taekwoon up, keeps a hold of his arm when Taekwoon’s legs wobble from disuse. Wonsik really doesn’t need to, but he brushes off Taekwoon’s clothes for him with a smile that Taekwoon can’t really figure out. He thanks Wonsik quietly and they sit down as Jaehwan and Sanghyuk place their modest meal on the table.

They eat dinner, Hakyeon corralling the table into quiet but comfortable chatter. Taekwoon helps Hongbin wash the dishes and when he lies down to sleep that night, he finds patterns in the ceiling. His mind is free of static. When his eyes slip closed moments later, Taekwoon lets out a deep breath and falls asleep easily for once.

-

They’re in Japan for the next two weeks and Taekwoon tries to learn how to deal with being confined in hotels once more. It’s cramped this time, beds separated by only a foot of space on each side, and he can hear people walking around on the floor above them in the middle of the night. Even that wouldn’t be so awful – he can live with it for a short period of time – except that his one solace is so unremarkable it’s practically nonexistent.

After hours of people and noises and screaming and dancing and a flurry of movement that sweeps across his consciousness, Taekwoon is left with nothing but skin and bones. He’s tired, happy but exhausted, and he would give anything to curl up in his own space. But his heart had fallen right out of his chest when he first opened the door to the bathroom and saw the tiny cubicle of space designated as the shower.

He’s not any happier this time when he steps inside, bare feet cold against the linoleum floor. The door closes with a soft click and Taekwoon wishes he could hear the steady rush of the fan, but there is only silence. There’s not much space in the bathroom and a sigh escapes him as he steps into the shower and carefully lowers himself to the ground. His legs are pulled up close against his chest and he wraps his arms around them and lets out a slow, steady breath.  
Taekwoon’s head thunks lightly against the plastic wall.

The shower smells like cleaner and hard water and it pushes him further into the foreign feeling of being displaced.

Taekwoon feels weird here. He flounders around the language barrier, feeling ungainly and insecure and completely out of place, and he’s so unsure of himself. Nothing feels the same to him at the moment, every little piece of familiarity thrust into some alternate dimension where there’s just something off about it that he can’t put his finger on. He should be used to all of it by now but the only place he feels right is on stage; everywhere else has become transfigured, like Taekwoon’s looking at it through frosted glass.

His thoughts wander away, circling lopsidedly as he curls and uncurls his toes. The air is cool and hovering on the brink of being uncomfortable, but Taekwoon doesn’t want to move. He stares at the shower head blankly, wishing that it would drip so that he could watch it. But it stays unforgivingly stagnant and he can only look at his warped reflection in the faucet handle. Taekwoon turns his eyes away from it in disinterest.

The light in the bathroom is fluorescent and so bright his eyes nearly sting. He breathes in sharply through his nose and the sound is more like a sniffle, like he’s been crying despite his dry eyes. Taekwoon lays his forehead against his knees to block out the light.

He’s tracing patterns against the pebbled shower floor when there’s a timid knock on the door.

“Hyung?” Sanghyuk calls carefully. “We have to get up early tomorrow.”

Taekwoon doesn’t say anything, but somehow he knows that Sanghyuk can tell Taekwoon heard him. Sanghyuk’s feet shuffle against the carpet as he walks away and Taekwoon gingerly stands up, teetering on his feet for a moment. He slips out of the shower and washes his hands for good measure, letting the water run warm against his skin for a few moments longer than he needs to.

The room is nearly dark when Taekwoon steps out, Sanghyuk bundled up beneath his covers. Taekwoon walks over to his own bed and stares down at it before he makes a split second decision. He takes the sheets from the bed, pulling them down with him as he slides to the floor in the small space between the bed and the wall. Taekwoon is wedged in the tiny gap, turned on his side because there’s not enough room to lie on his back, comforter large and fluffy and warm around him. He reaches up to grab a pillow and stuff it under his head.

Taekwoon breathes and buries his feet into the blankets.

Sanghyuk finds him there in the morning, hair mussed and eyes squinted. He laughs at Taekwoon kindly and stalls Hakyeon at the door when he comes by to hurry them for their schedule. When Taekwoon wipes the fog away from the mirror, condensation catching on his fingertips, his eyes look a little softer than they did the day before.

-

It’s the middle of the day and the warmth of the room wraps around Taekwoon and leaves him feeling fuzzy around the edges.

Most everyone is taking advantage of the brief lull in their schedule to relax, and Taekwoon has let himself slip away as far as he’ll allow himself to do. He is dozing off on the couch, in a state of fitful un-rest somewhere between being awake and asleep. He can hear the tick of the clock in the kitchen, can feel the light scratch of his sweatpants against his legs, can vaguely make out the way the light slowly shifts across the room. A shout from down the hall rouses Taekwoon just the slightest and he feels like there must be water sloshing around in his head for all he can seem to keep afloat.

His thoughts are wandering idly, a loud, constant rush in the back of his head, when all of the sudden it stops.

The silence is deafening.

It is like he’d had a ringing in his ears and it had been abruptly shut off, the absence all the more noticeable. Taekwoon tries to remember what he was thinking of, tries to recall his last train of thought to bring back something, anything to fill the space. But there is nothing. His cheek feels too warm against the couch cushions.  
His whole body is vibrating, muscles pinging just underneath his skin. He clenches his hands into fists when he realizes they’re shaking. It seems to flip a switch in him and he drags his eyes open, stares at the floor blankly as he tries to calm his body down. He can’t make his heart stop pounding. Even though Taekwoon can tell rationally, in the back of his mind, that he’s not actually moving, it feels as if the whole room is shaking. He lays there, mind shivering, as he tries to stop the way his body seems to be buzzing without care.

Taekwoon closes his eyes and focuses on his breathing.

He can’t get the feeling to stop, can’t seem to breath evenly or get enough air. He’s starting to feel worryingly lightheaded and the room grows even warmer, weighting him down into the couch. Taekwoon is gripping the front of his hoodie, hands pressed close and curled in on himself to try and block it out.

His heart is thundering in his chest, his breath coming out in such short bursts that he wonders if he is going to have a panic attack, if he might be having one right now.

Hakyeon is there in the next second, crouched in front of Taekwoon, his hands cool and comforting against Taekwoon’s skin. Somehow, Hakyeon is always there. The thought drags Taekwoon out of his head just enough to settle some of the buzzing beneath his skin, though it doesn’t stop entirely. He opens his eyes and meets Hakyeon’s stare, unjudging and steady as it is, and a noise that sounds embarrassingly like a whimper crawls its way out of his mouth.

Hakyeon shushes him gently, one hand going to wrap around Taekwoon’s hand, the other settling on the back of his head.

“You’re okay,” Hakyeon says, and he keeps repeating it softly, fingers running through Taekwoon’s hair, until Taekwoon almost believes it.

-

His toes feel trapped in his socks.

Taekwoon flexes them, trying the push the material out and give his feet more room but the fabric is thin and elastic and clings to the shape of his foot. It’s constricting and uncomfortable and though the rest of his body is free, it makes Taekwoon feel trapped. Agitated, he reaches down and frees his feet from the restrictive material. The air feels cold and he pulls his feet beneath himself.

The socks lay forgotten beside him.

He’s sitting in the sun near the window, watching the dust in the air. There is so much dust. Far, far below, cars file down intersecting streets, crisscrossing over the ground in neat little lines. There are people milling about on the sidewalks, just minuscule specs from Taekwoon’s vantage point. The sun is warm and shining brightly as it peeks through wisps of clouds and he can see the shadows it casts on the ground, the stretching silhouettes of high rise buildings laying themselves out across the horizon. It all looks so surreal, like a little toy town spread out before him.

Taekwoon stares out the window and takes in everything; he glides into a sort of distant melancholy, a faraway trance that leaves him sitting motionless in front of the large window. He doesn’t move for some time, just absorbs the sight before him and lets the thoughts slip away quietly.

A sharp reflection of light catches his eye and he blinks, wincing. He’s hit sensory overload. His vision starts to blue and light becomes difficult to look at. His head pounds with noise, like it’s hollow and the noise is rattling around inside, but all other sound passes through cotton ears.

Taekwoon flops backwards onto the floor carelessly, one arm falling over his eyes to block out the light. Somewhere outside, a car horn honks and the sound is tinny and so ridiculous that it brings a flicker of a smile to his face. Someone walks through the living room and into the kitchen. Taekwoon can’t see who it is, eyes still covered, but he leaves Taekwoon be as he pads back out of the room a minute later. Taekwoon doesn’t hear a door close, but he probably didn’t hear one open either.

His bones have been stolen, snatched away from his body, and he rolls onto his side, legs sprawled out on the wooden floor.

Hakyeon.

That is the single thought running through his head: Hakyeon.

Taekwoon sighs and buries his head in his arms. Hakyeon is tactilely affectionate – he shows his love for people by clinging to their arms, by slipping his hand into theirs, by hugging and squeezing and pressing close. Even after all this time, Taekwoon still isn’t entirely sure how to deal with it. Hakyeon sticks to him like a second skin, wears him so that Taekwoon can’t peel him off. He’s so close that it should be insufferable, and sometimes it is but mostly Taekwoon can’t figure it out.

He can’t…he can’t like Hakyeon the way Hakyeon likes him. Taekwoon cares for him immensely, wants to stay by his side and show the world what they can do together, wants to watch the world love Hakyeon for the glittering star Taekwoon knows him to be.

But he can’t touch Hakyeon, can’t want Hakyeon the way he Hakyeon does for him. He’s tried.

The skin around his eyes feels raw and red; it burns as he rubs them. Spots of light and dark erupt from behind his eyelids and he tries to blink away the static filling his vision when he opens his eyes.

“It’s okay,” Hakyeon had told him. “I’m happy.”

He had said that there was nothing wrong with it but Taekwoon’s not sure he believes him. He imagines that he can see some sort of sadness lurking behind Hakyeon’s words, behind his eyes, as he says it. Hakyeon won’t have any of it, though. He never does. He’s quick to sweep Taekwoon into his arms and hold him tight and whisper into Taekwoon’s ear how much he cares about him, how happy he is that Taekwoon’s walking the same path as him. It makes Taekwoon feel tiny, like Hakyeon can encompass his entire being just by existing.

The world is safe there in Hakyeon’s arms.

Hakyeon always leaves him with a kiss, soft and swift and dry, pressed lovingly against his cheek. He never seems to mind that he’s the one to initiate such a thing most often, but Taekwoon loves the delighted look of surprise that lights up Hakyeon’s face when Taekwoon does it first.

Next time, he’s going to be the one to catch Hakyeon off guard. He could do that much, at least.

-

He’s electric.

Taekwoon can feel it buzzing just underneath his skin, making his heart skip in a lopsided staccato. His pulse is rushing so fast that his hands shake with every beat.

It’s happening all too often, this overwhelming feeling of something, something he can’t even put a name to. But it surges in, floods him with a blazing sort of exhausted energy, and tries to rip him apart. It leaves Taekwoon so tired afterwards, so weak, and a little frightened because he doesn’t know how to make it stop. He feels warm – warm and sluggish and heavy – but his hands are cold. He flexes his fingers, curling them into his palms as if he can shake away the icy feeling. The motion seems slowed down somehow, feeble and small.

His body is overheating and he feels his skin begin to prickle with sweat. But he’s freezing, his whole body wracked with shivers as he tries to stave off the cold that almost seems to be radiating from within him. Taekwoon is shaking inside and out, coming apart at the seams, as his blood snaps its way through his veins.

His face burns.

Taekwoon’s going to crumble. His world feels like it is tipping on its axis, catapulting him forward head first. He's going to fracture and splinter apart until he’s nothing but a pile of mismatched shards. A door closing somewhere on the other side of his room and he dimly, distantly, remembers that he’s not alone. It doesn’t seem to help. He trips over himself, toes catching on the tangled hem of his pants.

His hands are shaking and his breath stutters, falling from his mouth in harsh, rapid pants. He can't breathe properly. Somehow, he manages to back himself up against the wall and he quietly hyperventilates, alone in the corner, until Hongbin finds him ten minutes later and pries Taekwoon's fingers away from the bruises they've formed around his upper arms. Taekwoon’s nails leave behind shallow impressions in his skin.

When Hongbin asks if he’s okay, Taekwoon tries to assure him that he is, even though his hands are still shaking. All he can manage are raspy, jumbled excuses. His face must be flushed, because Hongbin brings his arm up and presses the back of his hand to Taekwoon’s forehead. Taekwoon doesn’t know what sort of conclusion Hongbin comes to as he frowns and searches Taekwoon’s eyes.

Light shuffling noises come from the door and Sanghyuk peeks his head around, just enough for his eyes to clear the door frame, before he ducks away. Hongbin sits back on heels and pulls out his phone, fingers tapping away at the screen. His face is still set into a frown. Taekwoon thinks he’s probably texting Hakyeon and he forces down the sob that tries to make its way up his chest. Hakyeon will be back soon and then maybe Taekwoon will be able to breathe again; it’s a pathetic rhythm Taekwoon seems to have fallen into.

He’s getting too used to this.

-

They have a rare, odd day off and everyone’s spending it in their own way; Wonsik’s asleep in his room, Sanghyuk and Hongbin are playing some sort of game on the computer in the living room, Jaehwan is out of the dorm, and Hakyeon is, no doubt, tinkering about somewhere. The dorm is not empty, but it’s quiet enough.  
Taekwoon is laid out on his futon, blankets arranged messily around himself. Anytime the door opens he snaps his eyes shut, lies limp and still and relaxes his face, his whole body, until the door shuts again and he can’t hear anyone inside the room. Sometimes, someone will come in and shuffle around, grab something before they leave just as quickly. When they see him lying there, they leave him be, let him rest.

He pretends to sleep a lot. Somehow, Hakyeon always knows.

Taekwoon hears the door crack open slowly, the creak of the wood low and groaning. His eyes are already closed before the deep click of the doorknob turning resonates, and then the tinny noise from out in the living room filters into the room. The door is closed softly and Taekwoon breathes slowly, deeply, waits for the sign that he’s alone once more. But there’s a quiet whisper of clothing and the sound of bare feet on a wooden floor.

He keeps his eyes closed and doesn’t move. Taekwoon doesn’t have to actively work to fool any of them; their schedule has been so hectic that it’s almost surprising that they’re not all still resting in their rooms. As far as any of them know, he’s just going to sleep the day away, buried beneath a mound of blankets in the stuffy room.

Nevertheless, that doesn’t stop Hakyeon from knowing the difference and Taekwoon has yet to figure out if that annoys him or not.

Hakyeon stands still, presumably next to Taekwoon’s futon, and doesn’t move for quite some time. He matches Taekwoon breath for breath and everything is so motionless, so bleary and frozen in time, that Taekwoon almost slips into a doze, hovering somewhere in between awake and asleep. It’s the sound of Hakyeon kneeling next to him that gently rolls him out of that thin, floating world.

He feels a hand carefully sweep his bangs out of his face, only to replace them with a cool palm. All at once, Taekwoon feels how muggy the air is, how it feels on his face and has trapped itself beneath his blankets, beneath his clothes. Hakyeon’s hand is a refreshing welcome as it slides down from Taekwoon’s forehead to his cheek. Unable to help himself, Taekwoon turns his face towards Hakyeon’s palm.

There’s a thump somewhere outside the room followed by some laughter but Taekwoon pays it no mind as he focuses on the feel of Hakyeon’s thumb lightly running over his jaw. The slow motion mirrors the tick of the clock on the wall, back and forth, and Taekwoon lets out a sigh that’s not quite content but is close enough. It’s no use pretending with Hakyeon there, but Taekwoon’s too resigned to properly wake up and do anything else, and so he lies there instead and feels the way Hakyeon’s hand is warming against his skin.

A moment later Hakyeon pulls away and Taekwoon figures that it’s over and Hakyeon will leave. Instead, Hakyeon’s fingertips skim over his eyelids, feather-soft, creating indistinct shadows. His eyebrows furrow, just slightly, and Hakyeon’s fingers pause momentarily before they continue their journey down the bridge of his nose and across his lips. Taekwoon’s fingers twitch.

“Taekwoon,” Hakyeon says quietly, breaking the silence in the room. His fingers rest on Taekwoon’s neck, just above the thrum of his heartbeat. Taekwoon thinks he can feel them syncing together.

His hand emerges from the swath of blankets and grabs Hakyeon’s before he opens his eyes. Hakyeon’s hand curls beneath his and Taekwoon can feel the way Hakyeon’s nails run across his skin. When he turns his head and his eyes slide over to meet Hakyeon’s, a small smile makes its way onto Hakyeon’s face.

“Hey.” His voice is warm and smooth and glides into Taekwoon’s cottony ears to block out the buzz of silence.

Taekwoon gives his hand the barest of squeezes before he lets go and turns on his side, eye level with Hakyeon’s knees. His pillows his head against his arm and closes his eyes once more. The room isn’t particularly bright but the light skates across his consciousness and makes it hard to focus. The room is warm, the muggy air caught under his shirt collar, and it sits heavily on his chest, making him dizzy.

“What are you doing?” he asks when Hakyeon’s fingers find their way into his hair.

Hakyeon doesn’t answer, instead dancing his fingertips down the slope of Taekwoon’s neck and up his shoulder.

Taekwoon likes this, the quiet, easy air between them. It’s almost always easy with Hakyeon. And maybe that should scare him (and maybe, just maybe, it does a little) but Hakyeon has a way of plucking all of his doubts away and tossing them into the air like tissue paper. They keep it between them, that light, peaceful feeling, and Taekwoon’s eyes slip shut once more as Hakyeon’s palm travels down his arm and stops at his hand. Hakyeon’s fingers trace over his knuckles, dipping and weaving between his fingers until the two of them are laced together.

It only takes Taekwoon a moment to decide what he wants to do and then he’s tugging Hakyeon down next to him on the futon. There’s not exactly enough room for them but Taekwoon won’t say anything if Hakyeon doesn’t. Only the sounds of shuffling fill the room as Hakyeon shifts and pulls the blanket over himself as well, and it’s on the edge of being uncomfortably warm but neither of them seem to care all that much.

For as loud, as spirited and full of life – of light – as Hakyeon is, he matches pace with Taekwoon extremely well. It should unnerve him, Hakyeon’s ability to understand him in ways that Taekwoon can’t even understand himself, but it’s more of a comfort than anything. One of these days, Taekwoon will be the one to surprise him, to step in sync with him and be there wherever, whenever Hakyeon needs him. He’ll be able to show Hakyeon how much he cares.

In the hushed lull, Taekwoon’s hand takes the chance to explore. He mimics Hakyeon’s route, tracing along the shell of Hakyeon’s ear before he runs his fingertips across Hakyeon’s jaw and down his neck. He stops just above Hakyeon’s heart and lays his palm there; he can feel Hakyeon’s heartbeat, thumping strong and steady beneath his hand.

“What are you thinking about?” Hakyeon asks him quietly, voice low and lazy, like he’s about to fall asleep in Taekwoon’s arms.

Taekwoon would like that.

“You,” he replies honestly, without thought. The second the word leaves his lips, Taekwoon is embarrassed at the way it sounds, even though they both know it’s true. Despite this, he won’t take it back. He bites his lip and noses softly at the back of Hakyeon’s head. He can smell Hakyeon’s shampoo and he breathes in, relaxing.

Hakyeon squeezes his hand once and then he’s turning toward Taekwoon, dipping his head down to rest against the hollow of Taekwoon’s neck. The room is quiet as they breathe together and they don’t move for a very long time. Taekwoon has never felt happier.

**Author's Note:**

> For my sun, moon, and stars, who has not read this and probably never will. You’ve moved away from this but you’re still the reason it started at all. This is as much for me as it is you.
> 
> heh….there wasn’t so much talking in this one….oops? there’ll be more in the next part but you can probably guess how much based off the previous parts ^^;;
> 
> ahh……things seem different ε-(´・｀) I hope this was worth the wait @o@;;;;;


End file.
